


there's no place like it

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: The resistance has captured HYDRA's second-in-command.





	there's no place like it

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr, aos-biospec requested a fic where the Framework is real. It kind of consumed my life.

“If I had to guess,” Kara says, “I’d say he ran into trouble before we found him. He looked pretty beat up.”

“Good,” Grant says. He’s behind Jemma, leaning against the security consoles showing multiple views of the prisoner down in Vault D. Given the man’s identity, it’s no wonder he’s in something of a mood.

“Medical opinions?” Mace asks, ignoring him.

The question is open to anyone with medical experience and while Jemma has plenty of that, she keeps her mouth shut. She wasn’t there when the prisoner was brought in and she hasn’t bothered to give the screens more than a cursory glance since arriving for the meeting.

Betty, who’s standing opposite her in the circle, angles her head to one side to better see. Grant stands to get out of the way and stops behind Jemma. She resists the urge to lean into him.

“He’s alive,” Betty says dryly.

Mace’s mouth twitches. “I was looking for something a little more in depth, Dr. Banner.”

She shrugs in a way that typically means he should’ve asked the other Dr. Banner then.

Kara stifles a giggle and says, “The good news is he was surprised to see me. Looks like faking our deaths worked.” She catches Jemma’s eye with a grin.

It wasn’t really a _plan_ to fake their deaths. It’s just that the three of them - she, Kara, and Alicia - were very nearly caught by a booby trap HYDRA had left for them. In fact, one of Alicia’s replicas really was caught in it and it’s likely that was what convinced HYDRA they’d all perished. Ever since, Jemma and Kara have been confined to base unless disguised. It’s very annoying.

“Small victories,” Mace says. He stares at the screens. “Any suggestions for how to proceed?”

That question is definitely directed at Jemma. And at Grant, who thankfully speaks up before the silence can grow too heavy. “The doctor’s particular. He likes things to go his way.”

“Well today definitely isn’t,” Kara mutters.

“He likes order. He’s always wearing perfectly pressed suits and has his hair just so - rumor had it he had a hairdresser classified as a potential Inhuman because the guy didn’t get the part right-”

“Was he?” Betty asks. “Inhuman?”

Jemma can’t see Grant’s expression, but from Betty’s reaction, she guesses the answer is no.

“He’s an everything in its place kind of guy,” Grant goes on. “A couple days down there - no change of clothes, no toiletries - he’ll be in hell.”

“But will it be enough to get him to talk?” Mace’s gaze lands very firmly on Jemma. Grant might know the doctor by reputation - his reputation within HYDRA rather than his public one - but Jemma knows him more personally than that. If their previous encounters can be called personal.

She tightens her arms beneath her breasts. Warmth spreads along her back. Grant’s moved forward, close enough they’re practically touching. His presence helps her find her voice. “I don’t know. He likes …” She drops her chin, turns her head so she can see the glow from the screens. What little movement she sees is all Antoine, looking the doctor over, cleaning him up. “He enjoys inflicting pain. But I don’t think it’s pleasurable for him, I think he likes … the knowledge it gives him.”

“You mean he likes cutting people open, seeing how they tick?” Mace asks.

She shakes her head. “Not precisely. It’s not about the physical aspects. He likes knowing what it takes to break someone. I think- I think it makes him feel powerful.” There are … not theories, she hasn’t thought on them nearly long enough for them to be that, but the beginnings of ideas about that. If she were willing to consider the doctor for very long at all, she might be able to guess at the sort of life he’s led to make him into such a monster.

But she doesn’t think about the doctor, save for in the dead of night when her mind seeks to torment her with nightmares. This meeting is the longest she’s entertained thoughts of him since she was debriefed in the wake of her escape from HYDRA.

“Do you have any idea how he might handle pain himself?” Mace asks, his voice a touch gentle.

She shakes her head briefly.

He sighs. “Right then. We’ll let him stew overnight and tomorrow I’ll see if he’s willing to talk. If he is, better for us. If he’s not … we’ll see. Until then, this is need to know. No one outside of this room other than Agent Triplett finds out he’s on base, understood?”

There are murmurs of agreement throughout the circle.

Mace nods. “Dismissed.”

Even though she’s one of the farthest from the door, Jemma’s the first out of the room and Grant’s right behind her.

“Hey,” he says, pacing her while she all but flees down the hall.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.”

She stops at once, which seems to startle him. “I _am_.”

He stares, reading her face for far longer than she’s comfortable with but like hell is she going to show it. “Okay,” he says finally.

He doesn’t believe her. _She_ doesn’t believe her. But that doesn’t mean she’s about to wait around for him to admit it. She makes to march away, but he catches her.

“It’s late,” he says. “Why don’t we just go to bed?”

“I need to work on the ICERs.” She’s got the gun itself right, but her dendrotoxin rounds are still ridiculously expensive to manufacture. She’s working on a formula that, with luck, will be more within SHIELD’s budget and less likely to draw undue attention to their finances on the rare occasions they purchase rather than steal ingredients.

“You’ve been working on that for months.”

“All the more reason to carry on. Don’t want to have wasted all that time.”

Grant’s shoulders sag. “Okay. Let’s go.” He gestures for her to walk ahead of him.

“Why are you coming?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “If you’re gonna stay up all night to avoid nightmares about the doctor, I might as well make sure you have a steady supply of coffee.” He gestures again. “Ladies first.”

She hesitates only long enough to kiss him on the cheek before turning for the labs. There are moments she can’t believe she’s with him of all people, but then there are moments like this one, when she thinks she could not love him more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She gasps awake when her center of gravity shifts and for a moment is weightless in freefall, but then firm arms are holding her and she feels the gentle rock of two feet carrying her down the hall.

She hums in question as she burrows into Grant’s neck.

“You were too sleepy to hold your own cup,” he says patiently. She can hear the suppressed laughter in his voice and tries to pinch his neck in retaliation, but her fingers are clumsy.

“Work,” she sighs.

“Can wait. Time for bed.”

She barely remembers the rest of the trip to their quarters or Grant laying her down, but she is very aware hours later of the warm contentment that she wakes wrapped up in.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Strong hands close around Jemma’s shoulders, levering her up. She knows immediately, even through the haze of sleep, that she fell asleep at her lab bench. For the second time in twenty-four hours.

Forget HYDRA, this dendrotoxin problem will be the death of her.

She groans as she leans into him and glances at her watch, wondering how long she slept this time, and is startled into real wakefulness. It’s not even noon.

She cranes her neck to meet Grant’s eyes, allowing her expression to ask her question for her. It’s not unheard of for Grant to pull her from the lab, especially when she’s fallen asleep at her work, but to pull her away so early in the day…

As expected, her stare is far more effective than speaking would have been. He could easily answer her sarcasm with his own, but a silent accusation has him fidgeting like a schoolboy caught in the hall after last bell.

“You should come to the observation room.”

“No,” she says, turning back to her work almost before he’s finished speaking.

“Jem.”

“ _No_.” She twists her hips and spine until his hand falls away from her back. She’s already given Mace all the intelligence she has on the doctor. She’s done with the man.

Grant rests his hand on the counter ahead of her, effectively blocking her off from her stalled research. “There is nothing I want less than for you to see that bastard again,” he says lowly, ensuring none of her fellow scientists can hear, “but you need to hear this.”

There’s a slight emphasis on that _need_ , just enough she knows he means it. Whatever’s happened, it isn’t something she can pass off to Betty or Bruce. This requires her expertise.

She takes a bracing breath and sets her hand on Grant’s without his offering. He laces their fingers easily enough and pulls her along the winding halls to Vault D’s observation room.

It’s much as it was last night, only now the lights have been shut off, likely to conserve energy as the base has limited resources. The only illumination comes from the screens with their familiar views of the prisoner. In addition to the bars bisecting the room, the doctor is shackled to the floor, allowing him only a few feet to move around. He’s pacing. And occasionally punctuating the movements with yells Jemma can’t hear, as the mute is on.

“Mace is letting him think about whether he wants to change his story,” Antoine says once the door’s shut.

Grant comes up behind her in the dark, resting a hand on her lower back. She leans into the warmth of his touch, hungry for his support. “Roll it back,” he says.

Antoine does as ordered. The side views remain live, but the central screen winds back to a point at which Mace and the doctor could be having a friendly chat were it not for the bars between them.

“-who you think I am,” the doctor says. Jemma’s lungs ache at the sound of that voice. “I’m not HYDRA. I’m SHIELD.”

Mace chuckles. “I think I would know if one of HYDRA’s top scientists was one of mine. I am the director, after all.”

The doctor huffs in frustration. “And maybe I- _he_ is. But I’m not him.” He makes an aborted motion with his hand. A chill runs through Jemma. “Listen. I’m looking for a woman. Her name’s Jemma Simmons. Her photo’s on my phone. She’s like me; she’s not supposed to be here. She’s probably confused, disoriented by basic facts. I need to find her-”

The video pauses. Grant stepped around her to stop it and, with the light hitting the side of his face, she can just see the worry in his expression. His hand is still on her back, holding her steady if she needs it. And she certainly does.

“It goes on like that for a while,” Antoine says, turning just far enough in his chair he can keep an eye on the live feed while looking at them. “Keeps saying he came to ‘save you.’ Mace cut him off though. I think it freaked him out a little, hearing HYDRA’s still looking for you.” Antoine’s expression is sympathetic; he knows as well as everyone else how she’s resented being effectively grounded to base. Likely he’s thinking she’s about to throw a fit over its being pointless.

Only it hasn’t been.

Possibly.

She looks back to the live screens and the man in the cell. He’s sitting again, this time with his head in his hands. Her chest tightens with a tangle of emotions too complex to sort through.

“I need to talk to him.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She enters Vault D alone. It took some doing. Grant was understanding enough - he did bring her to see the interrogation for a reason - and his apparent indifference only made Antoine fight harder to protect her. Then Mace came along and, though he agreed she needed to do it, he didn’t want her doing it alone.

All in all, it’s nearly half an hour after she made the decision to speak to the prisoner that she actually climbs down the stairs to face him.

“Jemma!” He’s on his feet the moment he sees her, chains rattling and hands gripping the bars tightly like he can’t stand the distance they put between them.

She stops at the chair on this side of the bars and carefully takes a seat. “You said you were looking for me.”

He falters. His mouth works but no words come. And she can’t stand that so she asks, “Why?”

“You’re not her,” he breathes, almost to himself. “Of course. If there’s another me, there must be another her…”

“Why are you looking for me?” she asks again.

“I’m not.” He sits in his own chair, hands fisted on his knees. “The Jemma Simmons I’m looking for isn’t from here. She was brought to this world by an object we call the monolith. It-”

“Liquefied and swallowed me whole,” Jemma supplies. She allows herself a small smile. “Hello, Fitz.”

“Simmons?” he asks, voice thin with renewed hope. “Is it really-”

“It was the first of June. Weaver had just released the monolith into our care while the _Iliad_ underwent repairs. And after she left, you asked me on a date.” She’s very proud of how steady her voice is as she recites the events.

“I did,” he says, face breaking into a grin.

She can’t possibly return it without losing her composure, so she asks, “Can you tell me what else Weaver brought?”

His smile falls; he’s confused again - by her tone or the question or, more likely, both.

“Like you said, there’s another you here.” And she wouldn’t put this sort of deception past him.

He nods. Of course he understands the need to verify his identity and, after answering her question (Coulson’s petrified hand), he asks one of his own.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How did you get here?” she asks. It’s been nearly an hour of lobbing questions back and forth and her spirits are surprisingly high. She’s missed Fitz - more than she’s allowed herself to recognize since encountering his doppelganger - and revisiting their shared history, remembering happier times, has left her with an almost intoxicated buzz. “The monolith - our monolith,” she amends, meaning the one in this universe, “was destroyed.” HYDRA saw to that.

“So there _was_ one on this side?” he asks, grinning broadly. She can already see he’s eager to discuss the science behind their travels with someone who will understand. “A full-sized one?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “As big as the one that swallowed me. Why?”

“When I came through, the liquid reformed into a circle of smaller monoliths.” He holds his still-chained hands one over the other about a foot apart. “I thought they were the missing pieces from ours but-”

“It must be a uniform design. Or similar studies have been made of it in both universes. All you’d have to do would be to scoop up some of the liquid-”

“Without getting swallowed up.”

“How did you get through?” she asks again, abandoning the hows and whys of the monolith for now. SHIELD had been studying it for ages before she encountered it and its classification remained a firm 0-8-4. No idea where it came from, what it did, or how to control it beyond locking it in a box. And yet here Fitz is, looking right as rain aside from a few scrapes and bruises he suffered from agents who didn’t know he wasn’t HYDRA’s second-in-command.

In fact, now that she thinks about it, he looks normal. He’s wearing the same shirt and slacks she’s seen on him a hundred times before. And no armor or weapons were taken from him, only his personal items.

“This isn’t a rescue mission,” she says, feeling suddenly cold.

“Of course it is.” He sits forward. “Simmons, I’m here to bring you home.”

“But this isn’t a _mission_ ,” she insists. “There wasn’t any plan. You let the monolith take you-”

“Technically I jumped,” he snaps a little peevishly. “Daisy can open it with her powers. Coulson wanted to send a probe through but … I told Daisy to open it every twelve hours, just for a few seconds.”

He is ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. What was he _thinking_?

As she doesn’t have words to respond to his reckless idiocy, she asks, “Daisy?”

He blinks, then grins again. “Skye. She started using her real name a few weeks after you…”

Her stomach clenches at the name and the timeframe both. While that Skye was getting accustomed to the name she should have always known, this universe’s was suffering no end of trouble thanks to Jemma’s arrival here. She shifts uncomfortably at the lingering memory of all the harm she caused back then and quickly reroutes back to the point. “And your plan was to what? Even if you’d come through the same way I did, after two years I could have been anywhere! You’re lucky SHIELD found you before HYDRA did!”

Fitz’s face goes white. Jemma’s never been keen on the idea that the two of them could read one another’s minds, but somehow she’s not surprised at all by the words that come out of his mouth next. “Simmons. It’s been six months.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“He says he was only here for three, maybe four hours before we picked him up,” Jemma says. “Assuming the ratio of flow of time is steady, the portal will open tonight and again two days later.”

“Not a lot of time,” Mace says in a measured way that indicates he hasn’t reached a decision yet.

“No,” Jemma agrees. She sits a little forward in her chair, letting her arms rest on the old conference table. “But I suggest we act sooner rather than later. The others have got to be frantic worrying about him.”

Mace nods absently. “And we already know what Skye’s powers can do to the monolith.”

Next to her, Grant’s hand flinches. Jemma tries not to think about why.

“This Director Coulson, you’ve spoken highly of him in the past.”

She’s told Mace about her world, where it’s SHIELD that’s strong and HYDRA are the ones running scared, often as an encouragement that this world could be better. Other than Grant, he’s the only one who knew her true origins prior to today. She trusts him.

“Yes,” she says slowly, uncertain of what he might be getting at.

“How do you think he’d feel about lending us a hand?”

Startled, she sits back in her chair. She’s thought about it, what this SHIELD could do with the resources that other SHIELD enjoys. Quinjets, body armor, tech that reliably works, her dendrotoxin rounds. But that was always a distant fantasy. There was no way to go back, so it hardly mattered.

But now there is a way.

“He would,” she says, thinking of how easily he forgave Gonzales and his people. Coulson isn’t one to turn his back on anyone who would stand against HYDRA.

“But he shouldn’t,” Grant says. Jemma and Mace aim identical looks of shock his way. He opens his hands on the table as if to physically lay out his case. “Right now, those baby monoliths he talked about are ours - or they will be.”

Kara and Davis are using Fitz’s directions to find the underground cave he apparently landed in. If he wasn’t too disoriented (and if this doesn’t turn out to have been a very elaborate trap), they’ll have the remains of the monolith in a few hours.

“But,” Grant continues, “if HYDRA ever gets its hands on them or if they just figure out where we’re getting the new equipment and find a way themselves…”

“They’ll help this other world’s HYDRA,” Mace sighs. “We could save one world or doom them both.” He runs a hand over his mouth. “So it’s decided. Once everyone’s back where they belong, we’ll have to destroy them.”

It’s the right decision - the only decision, really - but it makes Jemma’s heart clench all the same. The pain of that moment the monolith broke has grown distant in the last two years, replaced as it was by other, more immediate hurts, but she feels it again now.

Grant stands, apparently figuring the meeting is over. Mace nods to Jemma, releasing her as well.

She hurriedly follows Grant into the hall outside Mace’s office, only to run right into his back. She _oomph_ s and he immediately shifts, bringing up one arm to tug her into his side. She hugs him tight so as not to be left behind again.

The reason for his sudden stop stands in front of them, smiling broadly.

“I just delivered lunch to the not-doc, like you asked,” Antoine says, “and I’ve gotta know: am I dead over there or just evil like your boyfriend?”

Grant flinches. “How did you-?”

“Come on. That’s the only reason you would’ve let her go down there without you.” He looks to Jemma. “So?”

She suppresses a smile. “Your other self is quite dead and Grant’s is very evil.”

“Thanks,” Grant mutters. Jemma turns into him so she can press a kiss to his jaw.

“Was I?” Antoine asks. “Evil? Before I died?”

Jemma shakes her head. “Not at all. He died quite heroically, I assure you.”

Antoine pumps his fist. “Hell yeah.” He points at Grant while he walks backwards down the hall. “You may have gotten the girl, but I went down in a blaze of glory. Hero.” He raises his hands high in triumph and turns to swagger away.

“Don’t you dare tell him how it happened,” Grant mutters, beginning to walk slowly after him. “He’ll try to outdo himself.”

He will. And Jemma has no intention of allowing that to happen.

She sways into Grant while they walk and, while she feels she should return to Fitz, is more than grateful when Grant turns them down the hall to their quarters.

“You barely slept last night,” he reminds her, “and it’ll be a few hours before the portal opens again.”

“Fitz,” she tries, not really meaning the meager protest.

“Is safe in Vault D. Betty’s watching to make sure nobody touches him. Come on.”

She really is very tired and it seems the easiest thing in the world to let Grant pull her into their quarters.

“You’re nothing like him,” she says while they strip down. Him too, even though she’s certain he must be itching to monitor Kara and Davis’ mission.

They don’t talk about it often, but he is so different from the Ward she knew that she doesn’t even see the similarities anymore. He’s not the awkward specialist from their days on the Bus or the murderous traitor who came after the uprising. He’s someone all his own, vicious and loyal, heartfelt and guarded. He’s a warrior trying to make this world better. He’s a good man.

He doesn’t answer. He shuffles her towards the bed and curls up around her, holding her close while she sleeps.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In her dream, she’s at HYDRA’s Triskelion.

She’s injured, but in that distant dream way where she has all the fears of future disability but none of the pain. Grant is supporting her, one solid arm around her waist while he holds off the oncoming guards, provides cover for the other prisoner.

Skye’s way is clear but she doesn’t follow. She sinks to her knees, eyes on her hands like she’s never seen them before. She screams.

The floor - but it’s not the floor, it’s the monolith - cracks beneath her and bright yellow daisies burst up. Amid the dust cloud, Skye wraps her arms around herself.

 _She’s trying to hold it in_ , Jemma wants to say, _she’ll kill herself_.

A figure steps out of the dust. Fitz.

Not Fitz.

He looks like Fitz - because the doctor does; he has Fitz’s face and voice and mind, but none of his goodness - and is even wearing Fitz’s clothes from Vault D, but he isn’t him, he  _can’t_  be him, not while he’s wearing that look of cool derision.

So it’s the doctor who calmly raises a gun and fires it directly at Jemma.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jemma gasps awake. Grant’s arms are still around her, solid and reassuring. He shushes her, sounding far too present to have been awakened by her distress, until she drifts back into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Grant helps her dress. It’s out of character for him - he certainly doesn’t make a habit of slowly doing up her buttons and finger-combing her hair - but then so much has been lately. She’s been so caught up in thoughts of the doctor and Fitz and home that she’s missed his heavy silences.

She steps closer, resting a hand over his heart. Its beat is just a little too fast, as though he’s fighting adrenaline. “Grant…”

He presses his hand over hers while gently cupping her hip with his free hand. “Is there anything you wanna take? It doesn’t sound like the portal will be very big but…” He looks away briefly, eyes trailing over their shared quarters before bouncing back to her.

Something clicks into place in Jemma’s mind. She opens her mouth to say … something, she can’t be sure what.

A knock interrupts her.

Kara pokes her head in. “We’ve got the stones set up down in Vault D. We’re thinking we’ve got a while, given how far it was from where we picked up your friend, but since the timing’s a little wobbly, you might wanna hurry.”

“We’ll be right there,” Grant says over Jemma’s head. The door shuts, leaving the two of them alone again.

“I do need something,” she says. Now her heart is pounding; there’s so little time. “I have to go to lock-up.”

“Lock-up?” Grant echoes.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she promises. “I’ll meet you there.” She kisses him and slips free while he’s still too stunned to hold her.

The last thing she sees before she’s racing down the hall is his heartbroken eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lock-up takes her longer than expected. With time moving so quickly, the pressure is on, and in the end she’s afraid she makes the wrong decisions. She’ll just have to live with them, she thinks while she runs to Vault D, there’s no going back.

The stairs are crowded. No wonder when they’re the only thing higher than the floor. The monolith pieces are all inside the cell itself and the only ones daring to remain on that level are Fitz and Kara, who’s curled up in the chair on this side of the bars.

Fitz’s scowl gets stuck halfway to a grin when he sees Jemma coming. Unless he’s met some nefarious version of Mace in the last few months, she doubts he has any problems with him, but being around Grant and Kara must be bothering him. (Bobbi must still be in rehabilitation. So little has changed.) Even Antoine’s presence would only reopen old wounds.

“I was getting worried,” he says, moving to the open door of the cell. “I’ve done the maths. Probably only a few minutes now.”

She nods. She expected as much.

“You ready to get away from all this?” He smiles, looking so genuinely pleased she almost can’t stand it. He reaches for her hand and she reaches into her pockets.

She has his things - his phone and watch and that pocket set of screwdrivers he carried in case of emergencies or kidnappings - and places them into his outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” he says, a little sourly.

Someone pulls at Jemma’s arm and she spins into Grant. “Before you go, I just wanna say, I’m not sorry.” It’s an old line between them. So much bad came from her arriving in this world - Skye, Grant’s exposure as a mole - it was difficult for her not to feel guilty, and she knows Grant spent a long time resenting her.

Fitz makes a rude noise. She has no idea what, if anything, has been said between him and Grant while they waited for her, but she doubts it’s been pleasant.

She faces him again, stepping up until she reaches the door of the cell. Fitz smiles that smile again. Months he’s been looking for her. It’s not the two years she’s experienced but still, six months of holding out hope with no signs of progress … he loves her. She’s known it for ages but somehow facing it now, it feels more real, more heavy on her own heart.

She wraps her hands around the posts that mark the doorway. “I’m afraid I used your phone - you should really change your passcode more often.” She tries for a teasing tone, but is afraid it comes out rather strained.

He pats his pocket, pulling it back out in confusion. “Okay. But why? You could’ve waited and-”

Once again she thinks about how she’s never put much stock in those silly rumors about them being telepathic, but she can see on his face that he knows. “I’m not going back.”

“Simmons,” he breathes, sounding horrified.

“I can’t.”

He reaches for her like he wants to drag her with him. “We’re gonna go _home_ ,” he says. “I’m taking you home. To our friends, your parents, SHIELD.”

“There’s a SHIELD here. They need me.”

“ _We_ need you!” He’s shaking, much the way he used to in the weeks immediately following the uprising. “I need you,” he says more softly.

She wraps her arms around herself. “It’s been two years, Fitz. I have a life here. I can’t just turn my back on it. I won’t.”

“Simmons.” Mace’s voice is gruff but not unkind. “Think about what you’re saying. You agreed that after this we have to-”

“We have to destroy the monolith pieces, yes.”

Fitz obviously hasn’t been filled in on that part of the plan. He throws up his hands and begins pacing.

There isn’t much time.

“I recorded messages,” Jemma says. “For you and for the others. My parents.” Her voice cracks and she swallows, determined to finish. “I need you to deliver them for me.”

Fitz is shaking his head. She’s beginning to worry he’ll refuse to go without her. Perhaps she should have pretended, let him discover her goodbyes on his own later and realize that way that she never intended on returning.

Again, she’s spun around. Grant grips her hips.

“Get the hell away from her, you-” Fitz’s snarl breaks off at the sound of Kara’s gun cocking.

“You said that world was better,” Grant says softly.

She nods. It is, she won’t deny it. A SHIELD that stands strong, a public that isn’t too paralyzed by fear to call evil what it is. There are days she aches for that world.

“You gotta go back. You can’t stay here, you don’t owe us anything.”

She cups his cheek in her hand. “I know that.” It took her a while, but she’s come to terms with the harm her arrival did here. “That isn’t why I’m staying.”

“Him?” Fitz asks. Jemma forces herself to face him. “You’re staying for _Ward_?” He doesn’t understand that Grant isn’t that man. Maybe she should have told him about her life here instead of letting him fill her up with fond memories of the home she’ll never see again. 

“I’m staying for me,” she says firmly. She takes a deep breath. “This is my home.”

As if they heard her, the monoliths liquefy. Jemma stumbles back into Grant’s waiting arms and even Fitz steps away, out of the reach of the thin pool.

“Fitz, _go_.”

“Not without you!”

“Please, Fitz!” she calls. He catches her eye. A painful sort of something passes between them - not quite understanding because she doubts he ever will, but realization that she isn’t the same woman he lost, not anymore. His expression firms into pained resolve. He steps forward and is swallowed up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What changed your mind?” Grant asks later, when it’s just the two of them wrapped up in each other once more.

She doesn’t have to ask what he means. “Nothing,” she says honestly. “It was never a question.” She’s thought about it in the past two years, that much is true, but in the last day? Not for one second did she think she was going through that portal until Grant asked what she might take to remember him by.

His arms tighten around her. His heart beats beneath her ear, slow and steady.

This world isn’t perfect, but then she’s never seen one that is. Here and now, she has all she could want.

 

 


End file.
